I have a dog. In fact I have two, both mutts and both rescue pups. We have a Rottie/Black Lab mix who is the sweetest animal on earth, the epitome absolutely of the dog whose bark is worse than her bite...er licking. The other is a Blue Tick Coon Hound/Beagle mix, another sweet animal but she came from a house where the pater familias was abusive so there are several things about men she is not really fond of. Loves the grandbabies. Well they both do that and the feeling is mutual. Bonnie, the lab mix is very intuituve. In the foster home she came from, one of the little girls was Autistic and would occassionally have a melt down. She always seemed to know when this was about to happen and placed herself near by. She was a soothing, calming presence for this child, as she is for those in this house.
Almost one of my first memories is of a dog. Spike, my mother's English Pointer was my constant companion. No one came near me except members of the family, and he liked to take a stuffed cat that I had and bury it if he had the chance. My mother and the housekeeper would watch him go and bury it...they would go and dig it up. I am sure that this gave the dog some sort of paranoia about how on earth that stuffed animal always managed to reappear after a proper burial!
The term Man's Best Friend is surely well earned for they give us so much pleasure and ask so little in return. The following is an essay about a new book, The Wolf in the Parlor, which explores which way the domestication of the dog actually went. Seeing man's advancement (or lack of it in many areas) I believe the author might be right in his thinking that perhaps the canine domesticated us. |
